


Tar and Feathers

by writingandchocolatemilk



Series: SpaMano Oneshots [31]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Bakery, Human, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 21:44:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13132830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingandchocolatemilk/pseuds/writingandchocolatemilk
Summary: "What sort of governmentbullshit—" Lovino threw the cupcake tin into the oven and slammed the door shut. "Allowsyouto fucking waltz in here and demand shit?"Antonio gripped the briefcase tightly in his hand. "I'm auditing you."





	Tar and Feathers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RonniRotten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonniRotten/gifts).



> **This is for @schnano on Tumblr !**
> 
> **They asked for a bakery AU. I ended up writing a "Stranger Than Fiction" AU! Basically I just subbed in Antonio and Lovino for the main character and baker, and let things play out.**
> 
> **Watch the movie. :)**

"What sort of government  _bullshit_ —" Lovino threw the cupcake tin into the oven and slammed the door shut. "Allows  _you_  to fucking waltz in here and demand shit?"

Antonio gripped the briefcase tightly in his hand. "I'm auditing you."

Lovino laughed, using the back of his hand to wipe away sweat; his fingers were covered in flour. "Oh, okay, so you're a fucking  _IRS agent_."

The patrons let out a hiss.

"Yes, Mr. Vargas," Antonio said over the noise. "You didn't pay all your taxes."

"I didn't pay." Lovino grabbed a frozen lump of dough out of his freezer. He tossed it down on a floured surface and grabbed a rolling pin. "All of my fucking  _taxes_. That's funny, I sure as hell remember writing the fucking  _check_."

Antonio nodded. "You only paid around half the—"

"Are you sure you counted right?" Lovino raised an eyebrow. The dough was flat underneath him, and he turned back around to his kitchen.

"Well, they were reasonably sure enough to pay to send me out here. So, we're pretty sure." Antonio gestured around him. "Is there an office where we can—"

"Get out of here, taxman!" someone yelled from behind Antonio.

The storefront rotated customers in and out. There were tables and chairs scattered around, warm yellow paint on the walls, couches shoved near the far window. Free Wifi.

Lovino crossed his arms, a lemon in one hand, and looked at Antonio. "I don't want to pay the rest of those taxes. So you can fuck off."

Antonio resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The smile dug into the sides of his cheeks. "You're stealing from the government. You're going to get arrested if you don't allow me to audit you."

"Arrested." Lovino scoffed, head lolling with the action, snapping back up to look at Antonio. "Why didn't that sick  _fuck_  state representative get arrested, hm? Who paid for his lawyers to defend him? What about the poor fucks whose heads got blown off by accident via drone?"

Antonio blinked. "You run a bakery—"

"And I pay taxes towards shit I don't agree with." Lovino turned back towards his cookies. "Use the taxes I  _did_ give you to build a playground. Use it to fix that pothole over on Main Street."

"Look, I'm not exactly pleased to have to look over three years of your receipts to make sure you didn't steal anything else." Antonio removed his nails from the leather of his suitcase handle. "So let's make this as painless as possible, alright?"

Lovino didn't even bother replying.

* * *

Gilbert lounged on Antonio's couch, flipping through legal documents. "Sounds like an asshole."

Antonio ran his hands through his hair. He hit the couch and turned back around, hit the wall and spun on his heel, back and forth, back and forth. "You have no idea. And the  _mouth_  on him."

Gilbert flipped a page leisurely. "Could be worse. Could be some hippy in the woods."

Antonio threw his hands in the air. "He's a hippy in a  _bakery_!" He lowered his arms and took a deep breath. "You should have seen the bakery; pots and pans everywhere. I can't even begin to imagine what his backroom looks like."

"Well, we all can't have a  _me_  cleaning up after them." Gilbert glanced up. "How were the cookies?"

"I didn't try one." Antonio collapsed on the couch.

Gilbert's eyes snapped back to focus on him. "You're auditing a baker and you didn't even try his cookies?"

Antonio sprang out of the couch. "I  _would_  have if I thought he wasn't going to  _poison_  me!" Antonio stopped in front of the wall. "Besides, I think that's not allowed. Right? It could be considered  _bribery_."

Gilbert scratched something down on his legal pad. "Only if you didn't pay for it. And you were actually bribed into doing something."

The wall was faded where there had once hung a painting. Antonio considered. "Do you think I'm bribe-able?"

"I think you're an idiot."

* * *

Antonio glanced up for what must have been the thirtieth time. "Most of these receipts are from three and a half years ago. I'm just looking for three years or—"

"Shut up, taxman." Lovino didn't glance up from his kneading. "Finish that box first."

Antonio sighed and reached into the box beside him, pulling out a fistful of receipts. He pieced through them, carefully trying to create a timeline, figure out expenses, debits, credits.

Lovino's head lifted at the front door opening. "Welcome, you fuck." He moved around the table, rubbing his hands on his apron. "I thought you'd drowned."

Lovino chatted amicably with what appeared to be a homeless man. Antonio rested his chin in one hand, watching the exchange, a finger tapping the 'clear' button on his calculator. After a few minutes, Lovino went behind the counter and made a little box of cookies and pastries for the man.

_Focus_.

Antonio's eyes snapped back to his work. He fished out a bill and read it over; the mortgage on the bakery. Well, Lovino paid  _that_  on time, apparently.

Fire in the kitchen.

Antonio's eyes snapped up, only to see Lovino making crème brûlée. He leaned almost casually against the counter, using only one hand to melt the sugar. A timer dinged behind him, but he didn't seem too concerned.

"Shouldn't you be working?" Lovino glanced up.

"I am," Antonio said loudly. "I thought the kitchen was on fire."

"Do I really seem like the type of idiot who would let his kitchen catch on fire?" Lovino flipped the flame off. He grabbed one of the small, white dishes and brought it over to Antonio. "Do you want to try one?"

Antonio held up his hands and scooted his chair away. "Ah, actually, that's considered bribing."

Lovino took a step back. "Oh." His eyes darted away from Antonio. "Fine. Sorry for  _bribing_  you. God knows I wouldn't want the IRS investigating me—oh wait! They already fucking  _are_."

He turned and stormed back into the kitchen, throwing the dessert in the sink. Antonio heard the dish shatter.

* * *

Antonio sipped on his wine, watching Gilbert work absently. A tome sat open on the couch next to him, and Gilbert was studying it intently.

Antonio blinked. "What did you say?"

"I asked what you were thinking about." Gilbert didn't look up from his book.

"The baker. He tried to give me crème brûlée today."

Gilbert turned his attention to Antonio. "And you didn't accept, right?"

"No."

Gilbert grunted. "Good."

* * *

"Fucking here." Lovino stomped up the stairs, turned, and bowed. "The whole lot of it. Every bill that's ever  _touched_ my fingers. Figure it out, taxman."

Antonio thought the first box was bad. There were stacks of milkcrates, filled with bills, receipts, statements. Antonio scratched the back of his neck, looking around. Lovino was already descending the stairs.

"Wait." Antonio looked around him again. "Wait, what's the system here?"

Lovino didn't stop. "Figure it out."

* * *

"Lovino—"

"Do you see me baking? Do you see me doing my fucking job? Why don't you do  _yours_?"

* * *

Antonio's eyes burned. His fingers were riddled with papercuts. Numbers kept jumping into his head—had he fucked up last year's refinancing?

Antonio rubbed his eyes as he walked down the stairs. He was surprised to see it was so dark out. Had he really spent twelve hours in Lovino's attic? The store was closed, all the chairs on the tables. Lights dim.

"Rough day?"

Antonio started and whipped around to face the kitchen.

Lovino smirked, waved a spatula. "Boo."

Antonio sighed. "I thought I was going to be locked in here."

"Locked in here? What, like I forgot about you?" Lovino used the spatula to remove some cookies from a pan. "How are the taxes going?" He placed the cookies on a plate.

"Okay. All the numbers are working out, so that's good. Good for you, for me. Hopefully I can be out of your hair in a week or two."

Lovino hummed. "You must be hungry. You've been up there all day." He opened the fridge and grabbed a glass of milk.

"I was just going—"

"Do you want a cookie?" Lovino walked around from behind the counter, holding the plate of cookies and the milk.

"Lovino, I really can't—"

Lovino heaved a sigh. "Oh my God, you're the worst, did you know that? I'm not going to tell, and you just told me all the numbers are fine, so what am I even bribing you  _for_? Hm?" Lovino nodded with his head. "Sit."

Antonio turned around. There was one table with its chairs still down. Antonio glanced over his shoulder and slowly sat.

Lovino put the cookies and milk on the table. "Eat."

"Mr. Vargas—"

"And we're back to last names, are we?" Lovino rolled his eyes. "Look, you've had a shitty day, right? You've been up there all day, counting shit that I'm too lazy to count. You're tired, and I was a grouch."

Steam rose from the cookies.

Lovino leaned closer, putting his hands on the table. "Eat a fucking cookie."

Gilbert didn't need to know about one cookie.

Antonio dipped a cookie in milk and took a bite. His eyes fluttered shut. "That's… a good cookie."

Lovino sat down across from him. "I put cinnamon in it and a bit of extra salt. Eat another one, they'll make you feel better."

Antonio did so. "God, where did you learn to bake like this?"

Lovino shrugged one shoulder. "My grandfather."

"He was a baker, too?"

Lovino let out a short laugh. "Fuck, no. He… He worked for the military. He was this decorated war hero, you know how it is." Lovino hoisted one leg up onto the chair and rested his chin on his knee. "When he'd visit from overseas, he'd bake with me and my brother."

Antonio tilted his head. "You have a brother?"

"Feliciano; he's a shit. My grandpa liked him better, but he tried." Lovino rubbed his cheek into his knee. "He wanted me to go into the military, too. He used to talk about it all the time. 'Just wait until you see the bases they have, Lovino.'"

"But you're a baker."

Lovino's eyes flicked to Antonio. "Yeah. Yeah, I am. Soon as I graduated high school, I applied for the loan for my first place."

Antonio scooted closer. "Why didn't you join?"

"I don't know. I didn't want to. I didn't think I can kill another person. I don't. And… I don't know." Lovino picked up his own cookie and took a bite. "I was an angry kid. The only time I felt happy when was I baked. I didn't think I needed to kill someone else to… I don't know."

Antonio offered his milk. Lovino took a sip.

"Mm, but what about you?" Lovino said.

"What do you mean?"

"You don't exactly strike me as the taxman."

Antonio laughed. "I wasn't. I was a stock broker."

Lovino sat up straight. "You're fucking with me."

Antonio held his hands up, grinning. "It's true. I was good, too, I think."

Lovino scoffed; it almost sounded like a laugh. "Are you serious? What happened?"

"Eh." Antonio scratched the back of his neck. "I fucked up. I wasn't so much a stock broker as a consultant. I used to tip off some people about how the companies I was helping—how they looked."

"No shit."

"The only reason I'm not in jail is that my friend is a lawyer. A really good lawyer. He managed to make a deal. I don't really  _get_  the deal, but the IRS took me. It's… confusing." Antonio waved his hand. "But now I'm here."

Lovino smiled. "Interesting."

* * *

Gilbert slammed his book shut. "Because you  _can't_ , Antonio!"

Antonio let out a frustrated groan. "Why  _not_?! His books check out! Nothing beside these most recent—"

"Because Antonio, you  _fucked up_! Do you even know how lucky you are not to be in fucking jail right now? Do you think the government gives a  _shit_  about the baker's god damn  _books_? They need to think you're not a fucking  _criminal_!"

"I'm  _not_ ," Antonio spat. "So I can't date him because they think—what? I'm  _lying_  about counting his receipts?"

Gilbert stood and marched in front of Antonio, their noses nearly touching. "Yes, you fuckhead!"

"And if I do?" Antonio hissed.

"Then you'll go to fucking jail for the rest of your life." Gilbert gritted his teeth. "And you'll be an even bigger idiot than the rest of the world already thinks you are."

* * *

Antonio's eyes snapped open. It couldn't be any later than three in the morning.

All he could taste was cinnamon.


End file.
